Aquaphobia
by Faded Fallen
Summary: It feels like surfacing, it feels like diving in. Ed x Roy, rated for cussing.


**Author's Note: **So, yes. Random present-tense ficlet that pestered me into writing it. Whee!

As for those of you possibly waiting for the next chapter of my fic "Coldblooded," I'm very sorry. I've been going through a lot of RL drama-rama that makes it very difficult to write. Also, I am moving to a place where my internet access will be patchy at best. So expect long waits between chapters. Sorry for the inconvenience. But have no fear, I will finish that fic if it kills me. XD Thanks for your patience.

** Disclaimer: **I do not own FMA. If I did, there would be more boysex. Mm, boysex.

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**Aquaphobia **

Ed can't swim. Not that he doesn't know how. He and Al spent enough time in the river near their house as children, swam in the lake when Teacher left them on Yock Island. He remembers dunking Al under and then getting dunked himself. He remembers the feel of the water flowing around his skin and how nice it was on a hot day.

But he can't swim. Not anymore.

He remembers fighting Psiren, and falling into the water and sinking. Sinking. The weight of his automail pulled at him, dragging him farther and farther down until he was at the sandy bottom. He looked up and the surface was so far away, and the weight of the water pressed down on him as if it was trying to force his last breath from him. Ed knows that if Al hadn't come along in a boat and dropped an anchor to pull him up on, he would have drowned.

He's not afraid of water, never has been. But now he is afraid of drowning.

So when Mustang looks at him, really _looks_ at him and their eyes meet and hold, it scares him. Because Mustang's eyes are deepest, darkest blue, and it's like he's at the bottom of the ocean, staring up at the surface. His breath catches and he holds it against the pressure on his chest. Holds it even though he knows he is not going to die, but his heart rises into his throat every time. And when the moment is over and the pressure lifts, he is left shaking and confused and feeling too warm and cold at the same time.

It frustrates him. Makes him angry with himself. He doesn't like to admit fear or defeat, and he doesn't like that Mustang seems to understand something he doesn't. There is a knowing look in the pools of his eyes when their gazes lock, something wary and a little sad. He is always the first to look away, walk away and leave Ed with his anger rising. Every time it happens, Ed vows to himself that it is the last time because he _will_ overcome this.

So now he is shouting at Mustang in the colonel's office, because it is what they _do_, it is how they relate. And Mustang is shouting back because it is late and everyone has gone home except for Hawkeye, and she's gone to get take-out. There are no witnesses to see Mustang lose his infamous cool, and Ed likes it better this way.

"Just once I'd like it if you thought of the consequences of your actions," Mustang says hotly. He is standing up, hands planted on his desk as he leans over it to loom above Ed.

"Oh yeah? Well, _I'd_ like it if you were up front with me before you ship me off to the ass-end of nowhere to do your dirty work," Ed snarls. He is on his feet and bristling in front of Mustang's desk, flushed from yelling.

"You agreed to do my dirty work when you became a state alchemist," Mustang counters.

These arguments are familiar. They both know them almost by rote at this point, and it's… soothing. He can lose himself in the anger, unleash it upon this man because he takes it so well. Gives it back so Ed doesn't have to feel guilty.

"That doesn't mean you can not tell me a fucking thing and then throw me into some fucked-up situation and expect everything to come out peachy fucking keen," Ed says, and now he's breathing hard. He has a point and he knows it. So does Mustang, but the man never could give ground gracefully.

Mustang makes a strange sound, sort of like a growl, and pushes himself off his desk. He stalks over to the window and turns his back. Ed can see his reflection in the glass.

"Why should I bother? You ignore any and all advice I _do_ give you," Mustang says callously. "You're too much of a child."

And that's the last straw, because Ed is nearing seventeen now with nothing to show for it but a few more measly inches and lots of misery and he's been doing this for nearly five years. He hasn't been a child since he joined the military, and he'll be damned if he lets Mustang get away with treating him like one.

Ed rushes up to Mustang and grabs his shoulder to turn him around, but the man saw his reflection approaching and shrugs him off before he can get a good grip.

"Don't you dare call me a child, you bastard," Ed hisses between clenched teeth. His hands are curled into fists at his sides, clenched so tight his arms quiver. "Are you fucking blind?"

Which wasn't quite he meant to say, but he doesn't care because he can see the startled expression flicker across Mustang's face in the window. It is carefully covered under a blanket of frost. There is a fraction of a pause, and Ed feels a strange current in the air.

"Are you trying to tell me you're all grown up now?" Mustang sneers.

"Don't patronize me!" Ed shouts. "You fucking know as well as I do that you wouldn't send a fucking _kid_ into these situations, and if you _ever_ thought of me as a kid you wouldn't have asked me to come to Central in the first place!"

Again there is a flash of surprise on Mustang's face, followed by something less recognizable. This isn't part of the script. This isn't something they've argued about before. Oh, sure, they've hurled insults back and forth before, like how Mustang mocks Ed's height and Ed calls Mustang a rank-hungry ass-kisser. But this is different somehow, somehow tied into that odd feeling that was settling in the space between them, like something inevitable set in motion. Like a wave rolling towards the beach.

And Ed doesn't understand. He doesn't know why he's arguing. Suddenly it's not about the assignments and the lack of information. He just knows that he doesn't want to be seen as a child in this man's eyes, and of all people that bastard should know he was more than the sum of his years.

"Fullmetal," Mustang says, and it's like a slap in the face. "You have made your point. I'll take your views into consideration. You are dismissed."

Ed freezes. Now they have completely diverged from the norm. Mustang never lets him win an argument. Part of him crows in victory, but another part insists that if he leaves now he'd really be losing a more important battle.

He says in a voice oddly quiet even to his own ears, "No. We're not done."

Mustang closes his eyes and sighs. The sound washes over Ed, and he realizes that Mustang has bags under his eyes, looks worn and a ruffled. He feels a little sorry and a lot out of his depth, but he is not going to back down. He has come too far.

"Edward. Go."

Hearing his given name makes his mouth go dry, but he stands his ground. Licks his lips.

"No."

Mustang turns then, and the motion is fluid. The tension in the room swells. Mustang opens his eyes and the wave crests, then crashes down on Ed when their gazes lock. And oh, god, he can't breathe and his heart is in his throat. His heart is _pounding_ and the whole world is murky shades of midnight blue. He is drowning, sinking, and the pressure is suffocating.

So instinctively he reaches out for a lifeline. He doesn't have to reach far, his left hand finding purchase on the man's uniform sleeve. Faintly he can hear the rustle of cloth but his blood is singing in his ears. That knowing look is in Mustang's eyes, but there is more now, a lot more, too much to say what it is. Ed feels cool fingers cup his right cheek.

There is motion, and Ed finds Mustang's lips against his own.

It feels like surfacing, it feels like diving in. Ed has closed his eyes, and he breathes in through his noise, partly in surprise but mostly in relief. Mustang is drinking him in like water in the desert, and he acquiesces. He parts his lips, and Mustang makes another low sound that makes Ed's knees tremble. The hand on his cheek glides back, and fingers thread through his hair at the base of his skull and hold him still. Ed still feels like he's drowning, but it does not scare him as much. He pulls Mustang closer, clings to him, wants to feel his body against his own.

He's not thinking about what this all means, because he isn't really thinking at all. All he knows is that he'll ride this wave until it hits the shore or carries him out to sea. And it's all right. Mustang won't leave him high and dry, and maybe Ed can teach him how to tread water.  
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**END**


End file.
